Ringer Season 1 Episode 23: What a Fool He'd Been
by Reading Harbor
Summary: Following the season finale, Andrew Martin receives a phone call from Agent Victor Machado, informing him that his house is now a crime scene. Flying back from the Turk and Caicos, Martin learns what happened when he abandoned Bridget and must deal with the consequences of his actions. ***This is how Ringer should have ended!***
1. Chapter 1

Note: This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of "Ringer." The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the WB, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site.

Season 1 Episode 23

"What a Fool He'd Been"

Slowly descending from the clouds, the private charter landed in paradise on time. The plane ride had been a wretched 3 hours long, but even that seemed too long. Father and daughter had flown in silence, hands held tight. Words unspoken. They had left quickly, confident they were leaving a broken past behind them.

Maybe it would take time to forget the whole sordid mess. Andrew turned his daughter's hands in his own. Juliet looked at her father with glassy eyes. She needed his protection now more than ever. She had gone through so much. Her own mother institutionalized for trying to kill them. Her step-mother, at best, a prostitute and at worst, a conniving liar who pretended to love them. But, at least, they had each other- forever, against the world…

Was it them against the world again…

Andrew's heart sank with the sinking weight of the plane, as it lowered altitude. At the pit of his stomach, he felt a gnawing sensation that just wouldn't shake, which he knew wasn't physiological. Maybe it was too soon to forget someone you loved, even if they turn out to be completely false. After all, although she was a liar, she was a damned good one. She fooled them both for months, living in their house, pretending to be their dead wife and mother, passing as her twin. He had loved her, possibly even more than his actual wife. But he couldn't abide by lies- not of this magnitude.

Money couldn't buy a more breathtaking view. But even the clear green sea water couldn't wash away the stain of deception. The Turks and Caicos had been the perfect setting for a wedding vowel renewal- now ruined – it would serve as a refuge to help a husband and daughter forget the last few months, where the woman who had been "posing" as family had turned out to be nothing more than a cheap con woman.

Bridget, the stripper-prostitute twin sister of Siobhan, had impersonated his wife and her step-mother for seven months no less! Certainly, there had been signs that this was not the same woman… Siobhan never ate meat. Siobhan never had interest in the educational charities…. Siobhan… Siobhan. That wasn't even her name. It was Bridget.

Andrew cursed his luck at picking women. His first wife, Catherine, turned out to be a certifiable lunatic. His second wife, Siobhan, a cheating whore. And, Bridget, the woman whom he had fallen in love with… when he thought he was falling in love with his wife, again. Who knows how many lies he had been told? Doubt clouded his mind. How good was his judgement? A worry in the bottom of his heart, whispered to him, but what if it wasn't a lie. How could he even tell anymore?

"Sir, are you Mr. Andrew Martin," the wait-staff asked urgently.

"Yes," the man woke from his internal reverie, somewhat surprised that a phone call would be awaiting him as soon as he de-boarded the plane.

"There is an important telephone for you from Mr. Victor Machado."

Grasping the phone, Andrew recalled the name of the FBI Agent, who had interrogated "Siobhan" about Bridget. Bridget had been a witness in a protection program, meant to testify against some drug dealer, a supposedly dangerous man named Bodaway Macawi. Bridget had claimed that she had taken her sister's identity in a desperate attempt to flee from Macawi, as her own option. In the process, she had deceived them, not confessing the truth of her identity, until recently – hence the reason for the cancelled wedding ceremony and escape. Her excuses had all seemed so disingenuous at the time—mere words in a series of convenient half-truths- but suddenly this phone call made it seem more real and more important than anything else.

"Sir, sorry to bother you on your vacation. Your emergency contact information was given to me by Martin and Charles."

"What do you mean? Has something happened?" A sense of dread seeped through the sparkling sunlight. Andrew covered the receiver.

"Dad? What's going on," Juliet asked. Her father did not answer, but stepped away slightly.

"Yes, but I don't want to alarm you. It is just standard protocol to notify you when a crime has been committed in your residence."

"In my residence? What happened?"

"Did something happen? Is Bridget okay?" Juliet stammered. The same panic in her voice reverberated with the pounding inside of his heart and head, which echoed the exact fear. As furious as he was, he forced himself to remain calm. He had forced Bridget out of their house and out of their lives… Had that cost her life? Had this Macawi felon actually found her? Was he really as dangerous as she said? What exactly had happened?

On the other end of the line, Agent Machado pieced together a puzzle that had eluded him; he realized what had seemed so obvious now. The twin that he had been protecting was not Siobhan, but was in fact Bridget Kelly. And, the Martins had known.

"Mr. Martin, it may be best if you come in person to the station as soon as possible. Due to the sensitive nature of this. A violent crime was committed and your house is now a crime scene. Bodaway Macawi is dead. He was shot by… your wife… in self-defense."

"Yes, of course," Andrew said, already gripping his suitcase and motioning for the pilot to refuel the charter jet. He would not be able to rest until he knew Bridget was safe and he would never forgive himself if he had caused her harm. The answer became clear to him, he still loved her despite everything.

In New York, Andrew sat at the station. Dark circles had appeared under his eyes. In the short period since he had left and flown back, he had been unable to sleep. His mind restless, churning, imaging every possible scenario that could have occurred.

Agent Machado offered him coffee or tea. He politely declined, not being thirsty. Caffeine was not needed. His restlessness would keep him awake.

"Your house has very advanced security cameras."

"We installed them, after there was a burglary…" Andrew stated, his voice wavering.

"I'm sorry to interrupt but Br—S-Siobhan, is she okay?"

"Yes, she was very brave," Machado said looking keenly at the nervous British man with piercing eyes.

"You love her very much." Machado said.

Andrew nodded.

Acting as a guardian angel, Machado pointed to a small TV.

"We have only partial footage of what happened. Macawi was careful, but he only wiped the close circuit video footage from the security desk. He missed a camera. We have some video from your apartment lobby. The video is a bit grainy since the lights were out, but you can hear audio."

Andrew watched as Bridget walked into the darkened apartment.

He gritted his teeth as he saw her run to the closet and ransack it for valuables. A few moments passed.

His eyes widened, as a man in the shadows emerged behind her. There was a scuffle.

The woman screamed, "You have the wrong woman."

As this scene unfolded, he could see the woman fight back as the man repeatedly lunged forward. A long knife was pulled from his jacket.

Suddenly, there was a second voice. "Andrew? Juliet?"

Andrew opened his eyes in shock. His jaw slackened. A second Siobhan appeared. Or was this Bridget? This one wore different clothing… clothing he had seen her last wear, when he had shouted at her and told her to get out of the apartment and his life.

"But why is she going back," he asked aloud, already knowing the answer in his heart. She had gone back for them… to make sure they were safe. A rush of emotion overwhelmed him.

He realized suddenly what a fool he had been. It wasn't a lie. As the violent scene unfolded before him, he saw Bridget thrown on her back. She was attacked by the assailant. She pulled out a gun and shot. He grabbed her again. She shot. He was finally dead. She was alone.

TBD


	2. Chapter 2

Note: This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of "Ringer." The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of WB, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site.

Season 1 Episode 23 part 2

"Swapping Places"

Moistening her green eyes. Her perfect pink lips pursed into a small calculated frown.

"But where will I go?"

It was hard not to take pity on this beautiful woman, in a crinkled designer suit and costume jewelry worth more than most people's salary - who was probably used to getting her way either by her looks or other people's money- with instead a confused pupped-eye expression and nowhere to go. She was a couture angel, fallen from a 5th avenue penthouse into a hospital emergency room janitor's cot. Definitely fallen on hard times. Possibly even bottomed out. But even the nurses, who devoted their lives to helping others, found their patience vexed.

"It's been _three_ days, ma' m."

"Don't you have someone you could call? "

"The _father_?"

The small calculated frown turned frosty. Her wet green eyes hardened like icicles. The instantaneous transformation was jarring, as the head nurse – who was speaking now and had seen a lot in her days- backed away instinctively. Her arms raised in a shielding motion.

"… We - we – could call you a Taxi."

In the background, the orderlies whispered amongst themselves. They had considered calling the police but this had seemed harsh and also like it could invite trouble. Especially, on the first night. When this new-mother gave birth alone in the dead of night, and no one visited.

Over the past few days though, they'd begun to reconsider their generosity. A sneaking suspicion lead them to believe the squatter was turning out to be more vixen than victim. Perhaps, it was the way she was able to rotate from emotion to emotion with a flicker of a switch that made them pay heed. Or the way she snapped when she didn't get her way. She always _had_ to have her way. Either way, they were beginning to think there _might_ be a reason no one came calling.

"I _need_ another day."

"O-okay.. But this is the last one. We really must make room for the janitor, again. This really isn't a place for a lady of such stature."

"I _know._ Do you think I would choose it?" she snapped.

Looking alarmed and relieved, the nurses left satisfied that they had at least exacted this deadline from their guest.

Regardless of their growing apprehension, Siobhan needed time to figure things out. Andrew was really not her first choice. He was so sickeningly dependable, like a sloppy dog with no standards. She had cheated on him so many times, in front of his very nose. It was embarrassing how many times he took her back, over and over. He kept believing her obvious lies, even though she practically committed adultery in front of him. Regardless of all her machinations, he kept holding out on to dream, an illusion of happiness. It was a dream she once shared with him. But all the money in the world couldn't keep her beside him now. Not when she despised him so.

Plus, there was no guarantee he would still have her. But-there were his children. Twins. She starred at them across the glass enclosure of the nursery ward. The fact they were genetically his, and not her lover's, could be used to her advantage- if she played her cards right. But there was that pesky business of explaining her "death." Andrew was gullible, but not stupid. She had gone to great lengths to fake her drowning and have her sister unknowingly assume her identity. To re-emerge with babies in tow would undoubtedly leave her with nothing, if it went to court. It might look bad. She would not be penniless, again.

She needed a plan. A perfect plan.

If only Henry, her true love, had understood the lengths she had gone to in order to be with him. She would make him understand, again. The price she paid was too great: sabotaging her sister, betraying her husband, killing her own best friend – his wife, one he claimed to have not loved, so they could finally have been together. They were so happy together in each other's arms, talking about the lives they could have together.

Alas. Her original scheme to fake her own demise had been foiled by a snot-nosed, twin sister. Her good for nothing genetic copy had been a slipshod drunk her whole life. Never making much of herself, except ruining things. Ruining everything. Ruining herself. Ruining others. Siobhan had taken care of her sister over and over again - with nothing to show for it, except a dead son. A son that she had loved. She would have given anything to have back. -But, instead he was dead, because his babysitter couldn't listen. Instead of keeping her son at home, Bridget had let him go to a basketball game with her ex. Despite the fact that Siobhan had forbidden it. On that night, a drunk driver had taken her son's life. No amount of suffering her sister endured would make her happy. Her sister was supposed to have taken her place. Her sister was supposed to have died.

Her musings were interrupted by the doors of the hall opening.

"Bridget?"

"Oh my god! Bridget, it's you."

Siobhan turned to see Andrew standing before her. Her composure was lost and gained in the moment it took to turn around. As she faced him, she saw the unmistakable expression in his face. It was the adoring look that he had given her so many times before as his wife, as Siobhan, except now he was giving it to Bridget.

 _Bridget. So he thinks I am her._

She bit down on her tongue until she tasted iron.

Even worse was the realization that he knew Bridget's true identity and that he still loved Bridget.

The wrath swallowed her heart. Her anger ablaze, burned like fire in her eyes. But her voice remained steady. If anything she was glad, she still had full control over her expressions. He would not know his mistake until it was too late. She would make them pay. She would make them all pay. She would get her way. If it was Bridget he wanted, it would be Bridget he got.

"Andrew, I'm so glad it's you."

In the background, the nurses looked worried. One had called her husband, Andrew Martin, in the hopes that he would come get her. But now a sense of anxiety filled her. She opened her mouth to say something, but the head one ushered her away. This was not their problem anymore.

Meanwhile, Andrew Martin embraced the woman he knew to be his wife.

TBD


	3. Chapter 3

Note: This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of "Ringer." The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of WB, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of said work. The author shall not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site.

Season 1 Episode 23 part 3

"The difference between you & me"

Having survived multiple assassination attempts, Bridget felt stronger than she had ever felt before – despite being now utterly alone in the world. The newly found love of her life had promptly left her when he found out who she truly was, but she had risked it all in telling him the truth and did not regret it. Her best friend was most likely dead-killed by the same murderous people who tried to find her-but he was -at least- avenged and- at best- escaped to a new life, safe without her. Those who tried to kill her dead sister fled but were exposed and ruined. Her old life was a pale shadow cast against the present moment.

"What's this?"

"I have something to show you."

She accepted the package that her body guard, Solomon, forced on her with some urgency.

What normally would have driven her to substance abuse, mental, or physical escape no longer applied. Single-handedly, she had defended herself against Macawi, a demonic hitman who had thus far eluded every FBI and police agent sent for him through a combination of bribery, corruption, intimidation and massacre. She had ended his reign of terror with a 0.45 caliber bullet to every vital organ she could hit before the clip ran out.

"You might want to take a seat," he warned.

She chose to stand.

Nothing could possibly shock her anymore, except when she saw the footage that her body guard, Solomon, handed to her. The footage that clearly showed that her beloved twin sister, Siobhan – the one whom she adored since childhood, the one who had taken care of her when she was sick, the one who she longed to truly reconcile with – was very much alive. In black and white, an elegant blond woman with large dark unmistakable sunglasses climbed out of a small dingy the very day she was supposed to have died. Her body sank to the floor.

Solomon rushed to grab a seat.

Henry rubbed his unwashed hair and cleared his dry throat.

For months, Bridget had thought her sister had died; that she had drowned in a horrible boating accident or had committed suicide. She wondered what she could have done differently to stop her, to save her. _If she had been awake instead of asleep when it happened… If they had not gone boating… If they had not gone so far out to sea… If the coast guard had answered her radio calls for help…. If she wasn't so sure that Siobhan had killed herself, things might have turned out differently._ -Instead, Bridget had rashly escaped her own life. She had traded places with her dead sister in a desperate attempt to flee Macawi's reach. In the process, she had fallen in love with her dead sister's husband. Her family. Her life. All of the things that Siobhan left behind.

Siobhan had never forgiven her. Siobhan had faked her own death.

"But why…."

The dawning realization hit her with the weight she could not bear.

Henry, betrayed by the same woman, finally put his arm on her elbow.

"Siobhan knew that somebody was trying to kill her… and she wanted you to take her place."

Her heart fought with her eyes in what had she just witnessed.

First, denial. Her head shook violently. Her arms and fingers trembled to core. Then, settled.

Then, acceptance at the truth. It was a horrible, bitter truth. It was something she had known in the recesses of her intoxicated, junked up, strung-out existence. Ever since, the accident. The horrible drunk driving accident that had taken away the life of the only person Siobhan had really truly cared for.

"For what you did to Sean…" He explained, throat hoarse.

Sean was the son that Siobhan had. The son who had died while under Bridget's care. The son whose death drove one sister to guilt. To self-harm. To alcoholism. To drugs. To self-punishment. To numbing the pain. She had not killed him, but it would have been the same as if she had.

"Siobhan wanted me dead."

 _Siobhan had always wanted me dead._

The death of Sean who drove the other sister to hatred. To revenge. To vengeance. To anger. To hurt. To betrayal. To sickness. To blame.

Bridget was never thinking of the consequences of her actions. But Siobhan was always plotting the outcome. Retribution. Just punishment.

"What do we do next?" Solomon asked after a belabored pause.

Henry looked uncomfortable, as he turned his back. "We cut our losses."

He had known that Siobhan was alive. He had helped her when she returned. He had believed all the wonderful lies she told. It was only now that he had decided that her lies were what was poisoning them all. She was the reason his wife was dead. She was toxic.

But a change had taken place in that room. All the truths that had been known for some time finally came to light. The pieces of the puzzle that did not make sense. Why her sister had behaved the way she did. Why she kept hurting others. It would not stop. It would never stop. Not on its own. Her sister had become a monster.

"We stop Siobhan."

All eyes turned to Bridget.

TBD


	4. Chapter 4

Note: This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of "Ringer." The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the WB, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of said work. The author shall not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site.

Season 1 Episode 23 Part 4

"Consequences"

Anyone with discerning taste would've noticed the surreptitious gentleman in the tailored Zegna Bespoke and shoes that only Testoni could have had crafted by the hand of maidens. No matter how dark his sunglasses nor how espionage-like his scarf wrapped around his face, this man struck attention. It was not his refined posture, sizeable wallet or European heritage that stood out on the streets of the Upper East Side. No, those would have made him a perfect fit for his environment for those acquainted with urbanity and finesse. His James Bond-like presence caught the eye because of the gloriously beautiful woman draped by his side – a woman who could have no equal.

Siobhan clutched her husband's arm all the more tightly. Delicately pressing the tips of her fingers into his skin, indicating possession.

"How did you know it was me and not her?" she whispered the question into his ear by his side, with delicate urgency.

There was barely a moment of hesitation. But it was there still.

"I could always tell the love of my life," he breathed. A puff of white hot air smoked into the cold winter.

Her eyes fluttered and face flushed a deep blood red. Her naturally long lashes dipped. She held him more tightly, increasing her grasp. _The love of his life_. Yes, Andrew was an excellent judge of that.

"You would never have let those children behind," he stated as fact.

He was so trusting of Bridget. So believing in a woman he had known for such as short period of time. Months. Months they had spent together. But days would be enough to know the one whom you were fated.

There was a deep pause, as the two figures walked down the street. Arms linked. The devoted pair left the hospital. Behind them, a discrete vaguely familiar-looking valet carried a carriage. The Roddler had been delivered when the woman explained to her adoring lover about the two children she had found. How her good for nothing twin sister had bore then, then left them, abandoned them- just like her husband and her old life when she had grown sick of their use.

Without question, he believed her. That she was Bridget.

"Siobhan is alive," she murmured.

"Yes, I know…"

She suppressed the urge to scoff at what he knew. He always thought he knew. While her blood boiled at the thought of touching his skin or being in his mere presence, she gingerly pressed her cheek to his shoulder. The ringlets of her golden hair fell, brushing the side of his face. Her rapidly forming plan could only succeed as long as he gave her rope. She needed his trust. His money. Her old life back.

After much walking, they had reached the stoop of an unremarkable building.

Their old apartment, a luxurious penthouse with panoramic views of Central Park, had been closed off because of an incident, which had all too recently occurred. As the site of a home-invasion and murder, the FBI had still not completed their investigation. Nor would they likely to for a while… The Martins were forced to find refuge in a new location, one whose address was not as posh evidently. One that not many people would seek. Not many people lived on this side of town. It was one that barely had any traffic for the matter. A quiet, abandoned home. Barely comparable to the lavishness to which they were accustomed. _How bad had Andrew's finances turned?_

"We should do something about her," he said firmly with a tone that implied resolve. There was no chill in his voice, but the cool air of winter seemed even colder in that moment. Perhaps, it was the wind at night which had this effect. Siobhan could not help but involuntarily shiver.

"What could we possibly do? We should let it rest. I'm just saying she has done enough harm. We should focus on having a happy life now with our children. These children," Siobhan explained. It would be harder to hide the truth from those who would ask questions. Not everyone would be so easy to manipulate.

"A woman like that deserves to be punished for what she's done," he said looking deeply into her eyes.

He held her hands reassuringly; his own gloved in Moncler….Except

His hands reached past hers. They moved closer to her shoulders, towards her face…. Stopping at her neck, where they formed a ring.

Siobhan's eyes widened.

"Andrew, what are you doing?"

"Siobhan," behind her a voice uttered her name. A woman who looked exactly identical. From every freckle on the face to the gold-flecked green in her eyes. Her mirror image. Not a doppelganger, but Bridget. The _real_ Bridget stood beside her husband. This woman did have an equal, a physical copy at the very least.

So, he had known all along. Perhaps, he was not the fool she thought he had always been. These were her last thoughts before blackness fell.

TBD


	5. Chapter 5

Note: This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of "Ringer." The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the WB, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of said work. The author shall not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site.

Season 1 Episode 23 Part 5

"Denouement"

Gently on the waves, the dingy bobbled - rocking the sole passenger on-board lovingly - as the mother sea to a baby in a cradle. And it was fitting as this was where it all began after all.

The single occupant lay prone, reclining in a blissful sleep, as real of a sleeping beauty as in any fairytale. Golden ringlets of hair crowned her scalp and curled beneath her immaculate angelic face. Wrapped in a warm silken pashmina, pulled tight around a slightly darkened neck. A long grey cashmere overcoat blanketing the rest of her body. Large brown tinted sunglasses shading her eyes from the rays of the bright sun, keeping her in her reverie. Dreaming of unknown riches and luxuries to which she undoubtedly were entitled and belonged to. Caviar. Fifth Avenue. Penthouses. So peaceful in her slumber. It was almost as if she couldn't be wakened.

Faintly the aroma of seawater and seaweed waft into the raft. The smell was not unpleasant but misplaced in her indulgent repose. She was pulled to consciousness not by the kiss of a prince but the taste of salt on her lips.

"My throat," she managed to mutter as she pulled herself upright. Her owl lenses falling to the side, as she forced herself up right. Her voice felt strained and sore. With one hand she touched her bruised neck and felt the tender flesh inflame underneath.

Unhappily, the boat rocked. Mother sea had become as turbulent and unsettled as the passenger.

Gripping the railing of her leather cushioned seat harshly, so that her nails dug into the skin, she looked across the horizon only to see a wall of never ending blue hues. The dark waves reached out as far as infinity, meeting the lighter blue sky in an endless distance.

Wildly, her eyes recognized her surroundings. It was the very same boat she had taken a ride with her sister on, months earlier. The very same boat, she had planned her fake suicide on for her sister to witness. The same boat, where her good-for-nothing never-do well slut of a womb-mate had stolen her identity, as expected. What was unexpected was that her husband, whom she had abandoned, and her sister, whom she expected to die in her place, had instead survived and formed an unholy union.

-And they were pissed. And they got even.

In one fatal stroke of misfortune, her perfect plans to run away with her lover, Henry, where dashed. The madman who was supposed to kill her sister in her stead had instead been thwarted. Her pregnancy had yielded twins fathered by her loathed husband, and she was caught and trapped on the ocean.

Now, only one question remained. _Had they left her to die?_ A sudden dread filled her.

It would take days to reach shore, even with the proper navigation.

Searching for the boat's ignition, she felt the key. Turned the engine and saw it was dead.

Reaching frantically for the radio, she grasped at the receiver. Praying that it would not be cut. The buzz of static surrounded her.

"Hello!?" she mouthed. Her voice was barely a whimper.

"Hello!?" She tried again and again, urging her throat to make a sound that could be heard.

Finally, a voice responded on the other end. But relief was temporary.

"Hello, Siobhan." A crisp clean, clear version of herself answered. Her twin, Bridget.

Her eyes widened. Dropping the receiver to the floor simultaneously. The radio continued.

"No, we didn't leave you to die." Another male voice added, her husband answering her thoughts. Instead of relaxing, gripping the seat cushion harder, she felt the fabric pull away at the seams. Her pulse quickened.

"We wanted to give you the same opportunity you gave me," the female voice continued calmly.

In the boat, Siobhan finally noticed a large black purse sitting at the bottom of the boat deck. Inside, the contents were a blue and red checkered flannel shirt. A black T-shirt. A pair of run of the mill denim jeans. A brown faux leather jacket, probably taken from a thrift store. The very type of clothing her sister was prone to wearing. Sitting on top of that lay a gold-chained necklace. The unmistakable bond that she had shared with her sister.

"We wanted to give you the opportunity to make the same choice."

"Where is this boat headed you ask?" Followed by, a long pause.

Her heart thumped. The drums beating loudly, pulsating in her ears.

She searched the unchanging horizon.

Well, here is a clue. It's between the Arabian Sea and Indian Ocean-You may want to blend in more."

Siobhan cursed under her breath. Ripping off her clothes as quickly as she could, she threw her expensive fabrics into the ocean. Putting on her poor sister's garb, she vowed revenge as she assumed her sister's identity in a bid to protect herself from what she knew would come next.

As a Somali ship bearing the insignia of pirates drew closer. Doubtlessly, they would look to plunder any wealth they could gather. Possibly hold hostage a twin of any value. Her best hope would be to feign little worth.

This was a fairytale after all, but just not for her, not the evil twin.

"Do you think we were a bit harsh?" Bridget wondered aloud. Her arms wrapped around her true love, Andrew, the man whom she least expected to return to her. Looking deeply into her eyes, Andrew chuckled.

"She will be fine… If not anything else, she's a survivor.

-Besides, it's not like we actually put her in Somalia."

"That's true. She just doesn't know that."

Locking fingers together, they held each other close. Her chest rising with his. Their breaths intermingled.

Agent Machado would come get her soon enough. All matters would soon be settled. What was important was they had each other, at last.

~ The End ~


End file.
